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Greasy hair, dirty clothes and a vague smell of poop - welcome to maternity leave

Two weeks from today I'll be back at work. Fourteen measly days. While I know dropping Charley off at day care is going to be a mascara-free day, I'm quietly happy to be venturing back into the land of adults. A place where conversation does not revolve around the number of daily poops, generic verses brand name diapers and what brand socks actually freaking stay on a baby's foot. (The answer is GAP.)

Before Baby C's arrival, I was anxiously awaiting maternity leave. Three months of no work. Even with a baby, that sounded enticing. (Stupid me.) I've never not worked since graduating college. This would finally be the opportunity to be the glamorous, non-working person I yearned to be if I ever won the lottery.

As is always the case, my perception and the actual reality were very far apart. Squeezing in the bare necessities around the needs of a being that sleeps, poops, cries and eats continually does not leave a lot of spare time for lounging. (Or even showering, for that matter.) The fact that I'm blogging instead of nineteen other things needing my attention actually pains me, but I miss writing, so the kitchen floor shall remain fur-covered.

Though there's no time to brush my teeth, there has been ample time to watch HGTV, the Food Network and E! while I feed her. I'm on the second round of Property Brothers reruns and I've seen every episode of Chopped. (I still cry at the lunch lady episode.) Now I've started watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians - the horror - and it really is time to get the hell out of the house.

I know I'll look back on this time sweetly as Baby C gets older. I'm constantly reminding myself to slow down and enjoy this because the real craziness will set in when trying to juggle work and being a mom. But the truth is, I will be a better mom because I work. At least I hope so. We'll see what tune I'm singing come October 18.



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